


street savoir-faire

by earnmysong



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The ringtone. It’s my personal one for you and, after last night, it seemed important that I share. I take it the,” she stutters, clearing her throat, “the Sullivans weren’t amused?"</i> // Felicity offers guidance with a little help from Disney circa the '80s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	street savoir-faire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [effie214](https://archiveofourown.org/users/effie214/gifts).



> Disclaimer: _Arrow_ is property of its rightful owners.
> 
> For all the lovely ladies on Tumblr who gave life to this idea. Most especially one in particular who needs some cheering up this evening.

\----

To say that Felicity isn’t pleased at the moment is pretty much the understatement of the decade. 

“You were having me followed.” It’s not a question -- there’s no need for it to be because living, breathing proof is standing right in front of her. The guy hired to carry out the job, a poor man’s version of Dig (he stood his ground and refused to give an ounce of credibility to his boss’ childish behavior), is holding his comm in one hand as he uses the other to stem the blood pouring from his nose. “Sorry about that.” She draws a circle in the air around his head, her grimace validating the truth behind her words.

“I was worried about…” Oliver stops mid-sentence when she whirls to face him, her features more closed off than he’s seen them in months.

“I was a minute and a half away from being on a date. With one of Sara’s friends from college, a man she assures me isn’t hatchety-murdery in any way. In the event that he’s changed over the last nine years, though,” she lets a tiny smile slip before she looks away to dig through her purse, raising her taser with a triumphant ‘a-ha’ at the same time as she pops a rediscovered strawberry Starburst in her mouth, “I came prepared.” 

“Felicity.”

She pushes past him, ignoring the apology he turns her name into, and he lets her. “In case you didn’t get the memo, Oliver,” she turns at the door of the bar to tell him, “you don’t need to worry about us every minute of every day. Sometimes we can take care of ourselves.” 

\----

The morning after the spectacular blind date fail, Oliver fully expects the silent treatment. It’s Felicity’s preferred method of retaliation for his tendency to devolve into being, in her words, an asshat. 

(He’s asked her repeatedly to explain what that means. It’s a request with which she’s never really complied -- except to say that it, along with ‘your face right now could stop an eight-day clock’, is a Smoak family heirloom of sorts. This is always followed up with an offer to give him her mother’s number so he can get his information straight from the source.)

“So,” she starts, walking into his office as soon as she gets in, not even bothering to put down the bagel she’s eating. He mentally battens down the hatches, because an angry Felicity who’s still speaking to him has the potential to be far worse than silent treatment Felicity. “You’ve got the Sullivan group first thing. They asked to see projections at the next meeting before they even left the last one, so I made sure to triple-check the Prezi for glitches. You, sir, are all set to wow some big-wigs.”

“Prezi?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“You’re such a grandpa.” She pats his shoulder consolingly. “It’s the new Powerpoint. Very snazzy. If the transitions are too fast, though, it can make you motion sick. But,” she smiles wide and bright here, “that was one time, and it definitely taught me a lesson.”

He shakes his head, an amused laugh breaking out as he searches the pocket of his suit jacket for something. “Have you seen my…?”

“Phone?” She shoots the question over her shoulder, moving to grab the item in question from the corner of her desk and letting it dangle between two fingers for a second before she hands it over. “Found it on the sidewalk out front. Which is such a helpful place for a CEO’s phone to be.” He slings an arm around her shoulder, squeezing affectionately and flashing a million-watt grin. “Would you go already? You’re going to be late,” she huffs, shoving him in the direction of the door. 

“Off to face the wolves,” he sighs, scuffing his shoes against the marble of the floor on the way out.

(The sight is almost enough to make her regret lying to him but, in light of certain events, he deserves a little payback. He won’t find out about her nefariousness until later in the day anyway, and by then he’ll have killed the meeting.)

\----

“As you can see, gentlemen, Queen Consolidated…”

A ringing phone interrupts Oliver’s pitch. The fact that it’s his phone ringing is unprofessional enough, but his regular ‘series of vaguely annoying beeps’ indication that someone needs him has been replaced with a song, one that asks why he should worry and why he should care. 

He jabs at the metal square, vibrating across the conference table and farther away from him with each lyric, misses the button that shuts it down by a mile. The music stops on its own and he straightens his tie in an effort to center his thoughts, finally continuing, “My apologies for the disruption. To return to the issue at hand…”

His phone comes to life again before he can finish the sentence, this time telling him he can own this town and wear the crown. He reaches under the table for his briefcase, places the renegade device inside, and emphatically slams the lid shut.

\----

“Scale of one to ten, how wowed were they?” Felicity peers around her computer monitor, still typing the email to Sara she’s in the middle of. “Angry face,” she murmurs under her breath off the look he’s giving her. “We didn’t get put in the corporate version of time-out again, did we?”

“Thea called halfway through.”

“Is she ok – Oh,” she slaps her forehead, laughs nervously as realization hits her. “The ringtone. It’s my personal one for you and, after last night, it seemed important that I share. I take it the,” she stutters, clearing her throat, “the Sullivans weren’t amused?”

The way his teeth are clenching is a clear indication that they were not. “Thea, on the other hand, honest to god cackled when I relayed the story to her after they were gone and I returned her call.”

“I’ll call right now and claim temporary insanity or North Korean network hijack or something.” She has the receiver in her hand before she gets to the end of her verbal freak-out.

“Sure, because the North Koreans are intent on brainwashing via '80s Disney movies,” he laughs, reaching to unfurl her fingers from around the black plastic they’re holding. “It’s fine, really. It’ll even be funny in a few days. Besides,” he comes around her desk, brushes his lips against her cheek, “I appreciate the reminder.”


End file.
